Torn
by FantasticJackie
Summary: It's late and dark outside. Something is surreal, low moans and whispers reaching through your walls. Someone is watching you through your window... R/T


**_Torn_**

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim to own Harry Potter.

**Author's Notes:** Written for the January RT Challenge ficathon, this is my submission for the prompt of using the second person tense. I'm hoping this is not too confusing; it's written to confuse you. That's part of the perspective, but I hope I don't turn anyone off because this is also a story, and as such, you should be able to follow it in the confusion.

It's late. You know this because it's dark outside, - that late darkness in which there are no disturbances whatsoever- and you think you've been asleep for a while. You can feel it in the way your stiff limbs press into the old mattress beneath you. Your eyes are heavy, yet your mind is quite awake. What woke you up?

You roll over and look to the clock beside your bed. The numbers are clear, but you can't read them. Confusion wraps around your foggy mind, but you dismiss it for the time being. You can't possibly begin to understand what it means at this late hour of the night. Unsure of what your purpose is, you move to sit, and then stand.

On your feet, this feels more natural, though somehow redundant. The room is yours, but… is it, really? Something seems surreal… Again, you brush off the peculiar sensation, not allowing yourself to think about it. You can always contemplate your perplexities later.

The hardwood floor is smooth beneath your bare feet, but you can't really feel it; you are too concentrated on what is beyond the glass pane of your window. There are noises beyond and below, and as you peer through, you see a group of people a little ways off just outside the thick forest behind them. Separated and apart from them, closer to the foliage, a single, solitary figure stands. You cannot see who it is, though. Why not?

You look around for some source of light, but there is none. – There's the problem: no moon. You are annoyed; you need the moon's light to allow you to recognize the figure. It should be there.

The moon, almost full but not quite, appears naturally in the sky lending its light to the world below. You do not question this; it's what you wanted, and your gaze is drawn back to the figure at the edge of the forest.

You know who she is; you knew all along. She's watching you, lanky hair swaying in the wind; you don't know how you know, but she is, and you turn immediately from the window to head downstairs and out to meet her.

There is a picture on the dresser with you and someone else. It's bright, lighthearted, and happy – out of place as you hug her nudging with your head from behind. That can never be, and you reach out to pull the frame face down as you pass.

You walk out of the room and directly down the stairs. Somehow, you can hear the voices outside where you are, and while you attempt to piece together why that is, you trip and fall down the remaining three steps. Luckily, the wall is right there to catch you, but you bumped your shoulder hard against it, and it hurts.

It would just so happen that you would be the clumsy one when on your way to meet her.

Your mind travels back to the frame in the room; why did you place it face down? It's a nice memory. A nice dream. A nice hope… No, not hope: fantasy. But it shouldn't be-

You're back in the room walking out from viewing the scene at the window. The picture frame is there standing as was before you touched it. Time to make things right and leave it as it is. You pass by it and think to not touch it, but your hand reaches and pulls it down again, anyway.

You should have known; it's not right. It can never be. Best not to torment yourself over it.

Treading down the stairs again, carefully this time, you head towards the door. Exiting the house, you knock your shoulder again. Why do you keep hitting it?

Your pace is brisk like the air around you. You're cold; why haven't you noticed this before? The wind tears right through you causing you to involuntarily shiver as you continue on your way.

Rounding the corner of the house, the scene from your window comes into focus. They're ferals, you can see, now. Bloody, all fighting and killing each other…

She still stands beyond them, watching you through the crowd as if it's not even there. You wish it wasn't; you have to walk through that chaos in order to reach her. _Is this symbolic?_ you wonder coming to a halt before it.

They separate you from her, and you don't think you can safely make it through. Then, as if ignoring that fact, she turns, gaze beckoning, and heads into the forest.

"Wait!" you call with a halting step forward. "Tonks!" The sounds of blood spattering and vicious snarls prevent you from moving on as she continues into the woods. You call out again, but either she cannot hear you or she's determined that you follow her there. It's imperative that you reach her; you've no idea what to say or do once there, but you must catch her.

Stepping forward into the crowd, your vision of this battlefield suddenly becomes clearer.

Dead bodies, eyes wide open to the heavens above, litter the ground. Young and old, male and female. - Their faces are ripped and bleeding, mouths poised in the same "o" of pain. Torsos and abdomens are striated with gruesome gashes; savage growls and blood-curdling screams surround you. It's not as if they are transformed. They're killing themselves; won't they listen to reason?

There's a loud grunt beside you; a man is thrown backwards. He runs into your shoulder – which causes you to inhale sharply – before falling dead at your feet.

You look around, horrified: why are you here? There isn't a soul who isn't engaged in the savagery.

And yet, they don't attack you. _Well, why would they?_ you reason. You don't fit in with them, either, and you never will. You are just witness to the carnage.

You press on towards the forest, squeezing between the minute gaps in the crowd attempting to ignore the scene around you.

Reaching the edge, you immediately enter the woods; you can barely make out her figure ahead, and you break into a run.

The ground rushes underneath you, twigs and branches reaching for you. It's a blur of scenery as you call to her again. "Tonks!" Your voice seems to echo this time. Is someone else calling her? "Tonks, wait!"

Laughter sounds from behind; you ignore it. She's waiting for you in a clearing up ahead, and it's all that's on your mind.

The trees part, creating a large oval free from the obstruction of a canopy. Her brown hair, lighted in the moonlight, sways in the same manner it did from your view out the window.

"You came after me," she remarks simply when you come to a standstill a few feet away.

You only stare at her having no idea how to progress.

Her gaze is slightly inquisitive as she asks casually, "What do you want, Remus?" You say nothing. She turns to go, and you allow her to leave.

Did you chase her for her to walk away? No. It shouldn't happen like this. Go back, and do it over.

"You came after me," she says again as you pause before her slight figure. "What do you want, Remus?"

"Don't you know?" you reply rasping, stepping forward and reaching to her.

You remember the picture in your room, turned face down. No, this can't be.

Approach her again. "What do you want, Remus?"

What do you want? What do you want?

She walks away. No!

Would you make a decision, please? If you are going to kiss her, do it.

You grab her arm and press yourself close to her when you approach her again; this is further than you've ever progressed. Dark eyes peer at you, daring you to make a move. You stand, hovering above her lips in indecision.

No. No, this isn't right. You shake your head, and you are approaching her again. Walk by. Just walk by…

You can't. Relive the scene again. And again. And again. Alternating stopping and going, stopping and going…

"Tonks," you say desperately, words feeling foreign as you approach her yet again. "I don't know."

"Make a decision," she says patiently. "Come to me or leave me behind; don't stand there in the middle."

Torn… Completely torn… "I don't know," you repeat.

And you're falling. Your eyes snap open as you hit the ground with a thud – the real ground with a real thud. Laughter sounds above you as you slowly take in the encampment around you.

"Tonks!!" one of them mimics. "Tonks, wait!!" More sniggering.

"Your time's up!" someone yells at you. "It's been up! Move along!"

_A dream,_ you think as you move to stand. – A dull pain shoots through your shoulder. That's right… You had just put it back into socket after a particularly hard jolt from the crowd in the near-riot to get a scrap of food had knocked it out. You'd been standing by the fire, hoping the heat would sooth it as well as lend some feeling to your frozen extremities. Leaning against the wall, you must have fallen asleep…

How long had they been shoving you to wake?

They are still mocking you as you move away from the fire as you'd been told, the January cold rushing at you just as quickly as if it had been a strong breeze. There are only a few fires since wood is limited and wands are prohibited within the camp, so you get in line in hopes of getting beside another fire. They ran out of blankets before you could get one tonight.

Your mind travels back to the dream, Tonks' question reverberating in your mind. What do you want?

Want has no place, you remind yourself. It is something that must be done; Tonks will move on.

_"Come to me or leave me behind; don't stand there in the middle."_

You are holding her back.

You wouldn't even be confused if Harry hadn't mentioned her patronus. If you hadn't seen the state of her metamorphosing abilities.

Wasn't what you were doing right?

Glancing over the cave and encampment, realizing you're making no progress at all, you admit to yourself that you just don't know anymore.

_End_


End file.
